Gilraen's Hope
by Karri
Summary: A collection of ficlets featuring Gilraen and Estel/Aragorn.
1. Rite of Passage

**Rite of Passage**

**Rating:** G

**Spoilers: **None

**Summary: **Young Aragorn endures a rite of passage.

**Disclaimer:** The characters and places of the Middle-earth are the creation of J.R.R. Tolkien, and currently licensed to New Line Cinema. All original characters and situations belong to me. No slash expressed or implied at any time in any of my stories.

__My thanks to Padawan_aneiki for the quick beta. __

Comments are welcome and appreciated!

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

"But, mother, why must we put it away?" Estel queried plaintively, clinging tightly to the small blue blanket in his hands.

Sighing softly, Gilraen clothes the lid of the chest she knelt beside and patted the top. Accepting the invitation, Estel sat atop the chest and gazed expectantly upon his mother.

"Everything in this world has time, Estel. Once its time is over, it must make way for the next thing whose time has come."

"But why must a things time end? Cannot some things last forever," Estel responded.

"Nay, my love," replied his mother. "For in its time, everything has a purpose; when it's time is over, if it makes way not for the next thing, then the next thing's purpose cannot be accomplished." Resting her hands upon his lap, she peered up into the small face and asked, "Do you understand?"

Estel frowned, "I think so… But I still do not see why Blanket's time must be over. It is still a good blanket, soft and warm and all that a blanket must be."

"Hmmm," Gilraen murmured. "Indeed, it is still all those things; that is true." She paused and gently tugged at an edge of the blanket, releasing it quickly lest Estel feel threatened. "It is also much too small for you now. It is a baby blanket, my love. You are a baby no longer. The comfort and protection it once offered it can but give in lessened measure."

Estel frown, clutching his blanket closer.

"Blanket has served you well, but its time is at an end. There is a new thing that will serve you better now, but it cannot accomplish that purpose if you cling to Blanket and do not allow the new thing its time," Gilraen explained patiently.

As expected, the mention of a new thing, piqued the child's curiosity, and his grip upon the small blue blanket loosened. "A new thing…" he queried.

"Indeed," his mother confirmed. "But it cannot come forth until Blanket has relinquished its time and been tucked away inside the chest. Can you do that?"

Estel sighed, deeply and with as much emphasis as possible, but then hopped off the chest and, with great reluctance, handed over the blanket.

Gilraen accepted it with a token bow and, with all the reverence due a child's Blanket, folded it and tucked it carefully inside the chest. Then, she reached for something Estel could not see, setting it beside her, still out of his sight, as she closed and locked the chest.

"Now, my son, from your grandfather, to your father, and now to you…" Unwrapping the thing she had removed from the chest, Gilraen presented it upon her raised palms. "May it serve you for many years to come!"

Estel eyes grew large at the sight of gilded blade now before him. It wasn't a sword, or even really a dagger, just a small, serviceable blade with which he might skin a rabbit or carve a piece of wood – just the sort of every day sort of blade that most grown up Men and elves carried upon their belt as a matter of course. And it was _his_ blade. Grinning as the meaning set in, Estel accepted the blade with as much reverence as his mother has used when tucking away Blanket.

"I am a man now!" he thought to himself. "My time has come!"

The end.

A/N: I haven't set a specific age for Estel in this story; I did not, however, envision him as younger than 5 or 6 years of age. While a small knife would not be an appropriate gift for a young child of our modern age, I remind my dear readers that the norms of Estel's society do not necessarily reflect the accepted practices of our modern society. Estel exists in a fictional iron-age culture in which it is expected that he will someday at the least become a part of, and presumably lead, the warrior band of Rangers. Thus, in that context, I do not believe it to be an inappropriate or unusual gift.

Thanks for reading!


	2. A Worthy Quest

Title: A Worthy Quest

Summary: Gilraen has an encounter with Aragorn the mighty ranger.

Rating: G

oOoOoOoOoOo

Aragorn stepped forth from his place of concealment and brought his sword up, ready to strike, determination on his expression.

"Begone, evil fiend! I am Aragorn the Mighty!" declared the young ranger. "Cast down thy sword and flee, else I slay thee!" Darting forward, Aragorn struck a quick blow and stepped back. "Eager for a fight, eh?" he asked, as his opponent stood his ground. "Fear not, foul beast! I am happy to give thee what thou desire!"

Gathering his courage, he rushed forward to strike another, more vicious blow. He stopped short of his target, however, when a soft sound from behind him reached his ears. In a flash, he dropped his sword hand and spun on his heels, embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

"Just playing, mother," he mumbled, chagrined at having been caught battling a mural.

Kneeling, Gilraen opened her arms to her son, and smiled as he accepted the offer and hurried into her embrace. "Love, you've no need for embarrassment. You are hardly to first child to battle against yon mural," she consoled. Memories of a man's tales of his own childhood battles before the mural played in her mind's eyes as she gazed down into the small face that bore so increasingly a resemblance to his father that it tore at her heart. "Nor should you be ashamed to be caught at play. Indeed, stay young and play as long as you can. You're destiny will find you soon enough. There is no need to rush it."

Ordinarily, Estel would have scoffed at his mother reminding him, yet again, not to be in too big a hurry to grow up. Peering up into her eyes, however, he saw such deep sorrow and fear that he merely hugged her tighter.

"Quest's are more fulfilling than battle, though" Gilraen remarked, realizing she'd shared more of her grief than she'd intended and not wanting her son's heart yet burdened thusly. "Really, I jest not!" she continued as Estel frowned up at her.

Skeptical, Estel loosed himself from his mother's embrace and, folding his arms, sat before her with an expression that demanded she explain.

"There is, I have heard rumor, a great treasure of pastry fresh from the oven in need of a valiant young warrior to free them from their plate," she announced. "Unless, of course, you think the quest beneath you."

"Valuable treasure, indeed! I think it a quest well worthy of my effort," agreed Estel, warming to his mother's game. "Will you join me in this heroic quest, my valiant queen?"

"Xë, a valiant queen?" Gilraen queried, smiling, though her eyes remained pensive.

"You are _my_ valiant queen," Aragorn whispered, before jumping up and dashing toward the kitchen.

"Zounds," Gilraen whispered, wiping away tears as rose to follow.

The end.

A/N#1: -xë is a reflective suffix in Quenyan meaning itself, herself, myself, etc. It's a bit of a stretch using it as I did, I realize, but this was written for an alphabet challenge, and since X doesn't really exist in Tolkien's world, I was a bit desperate.

A/N#2: In a previous story, Aragorn the Mighty ( s/1141085/1/Aragorn-the-Mighty), young Estel gives himself the name Aragorn the Mighty. Estel intends 'Aragorn' to mean 'valorous lord'. Whether Estel knew the name 'Aragorn' belonged to him, or thought he was inventing an original name and was influenced by a vague memory only Estel can say.


End file.
